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HOMAGE TO PEARS 
Ann Murphy Fletcher
I have been on a futile quest to
change my essential shapeliness,
but I remain pear-like
through thick and thinner.
If I were a fruit,
I'd be mistaken for no other.
Lately, I've been painting bowls
of them in crystal, china, brass.
I drape them in linen and lace,
light candles in reverence
to their magnificence.
No longer do I ignore
their velvet sweetness.
I serve them poached and
caramelized for dessert.
I appreciate their ripeness,
wear their resemblance proudly,
only looking into eyes
that reflect back
the perfection of pears.
